Breathless
by exordia
Summary: Breakup sex. (Or, that time when Furihata finally decided against putting up with Akashi for any longer.) - hints of noncon, abuse


**Title: **Breathless

**Summary: **Breakup sex. (Or, that time when Furihata finally decides against putting up with Akashi for any longer.)

* * *

Sometimes, Akashi Seijuuro is rough.

It's not a matter of pleasuring himself by ramming into Furihata despite the cries — almost howls — bouncing off the walls. If there's anything Akashi can't see past through with his emperor eyes, it's his pride. Every person Furihata meets has something of his own that he keeps dear, and Akashi, unfortunately, is too blinded by being high upon the throne.

Furihata doesn't go against him when Akashi flings him to the bed with surprisingly brute force. The brunette opens his mouth, hoping to get a protest roll off his tongue, but nothing comes out. He likes to pretend that only he can quench Akashi's thirst be it in the morning or the dusk. Akashi has an expression that might as well be for a beast.

Menacingly looming over Furihata, Akashi says, "Strip off."

Furihata fervently wishes to deny his command, because he is not in the mood. That reason wouldn't have a huge impact, let alone a miniscule one, on Akashi's conscience. Although Furihata hasn't looked forward to having sex with Akashi in the past few months, it is Akashi's need that prevails. It always does.

Furihata thinks it's funny, because instead of him being needed in a functional relationship, it awfully seems like a game, and soon enough he will be discarded as a broken toy.

He doesn't utter hesitation, and obligingly unbuttons his shirt.

Apparently, Furihata's obedience is one of the few things that can satisfy Akashi. His heterochromia glows in the darkness as something so vile and malicious. "Make it quick, and spread yourself on the mattress."

Humiliation floods through Furihata. He snaps his lips shut in an attempt to adhere to Akashi's orders. They've been doing this for a while now, so why does he feel like backing out?

He loves Akashi.

He tries to convince himself that he truly does.

Furihata is aware of the positions that Akashi prefers — he crosses his arms over his head and pulls his legs up, allowing the cold air to bristle over his nudity. He is Akashi's, as Akashi is his. Nobody will be able to mark him like Akashi does, with teeth and nails and thighs and hips all colliding against a body that ought to be a canvas of bruises.

Akashi doesn't ask Furihata if he's ready — a shuffle of clothes and he's already out of his pants, wrapping a leather belt around his palm. For testing purposes, he whips it against the blankets. The harsh sounds earn a smile from him.

Furihata is too used to all of it — but he can't help but blink to keep the tears at bay.

"Now," Akashi hums, crawling to the space between Furihata's legs and preparing to smack the belt on his ravishing chest. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

Terrified that his teammates will see his current state, Furihata hops over to the bench. Pain sears through his backside but he shrugs it off with a tired grin. "Ah, Riko-san, can I pass for today? My arms are really sore from my part time job, so I doubt that I'd be on top form."

Riko, with the clipboard in her hands, scrunches her nose in puzzlement. "You don't have a part time job."

"A- um, I recently got one in retail. Lots of heavy stuff to be loaded out of the truck. I don't want to wreck the flow of the game for the other guys."

Riko seems to consider it, if the pen resting under chin is any indication. After moments in deep thought, she sighs in resignation. "Alright, just this once. If that job is keeping you from being in your best shape, then you'd have to think about choosing one over the other."

Furihata's mind screams in relief. "Yes, ma'am!"

He turns around and heads for the lockers. From afar, Kuroko's gaze is noticeable, and Furihata immediately tenses up. He knows that Kuroko has sensed something — to eliminate all possibilities of being found out, Furihata casts Kuroko a smile and a wave. "Hello, Tetsu-kun!"

Internally, he crosses his fingers for his natural acting.

Kuroko merely stares at him stoically, as if burning holes through his skull. Furihata almost fails to catch what he says. "Is there anything wrong, Furihata-kun?"

"Oh, nothing," Furihata replies. "Except my whole body's sore from lifting delivery. I told coach that I won't be able to practice today."

"Hm," is Kuroko's only response, coupled with an intense fixation of his cold irises. Kuroko is thinking, unveiling Furihata's lame cover ups. Furihata can see in the way Kuroko presses his lips into a straight line that he's got it all figured out.

"Hey, Kuroko!" Kagami calls out from the other side of the court, already sweat soaked from the rigorous training. "Get your ass up here, we still need to practice some of your new techniques, remember?"

Kuroko doesn't break eye contact with Furihata in a brief moment until he turns on his heel. He stops in his tracks and throws an off-handed comment, leaving Furihata in a quiet panic. "Oh, Furihata-kun — I didn't notice that you wore wristbands before."

Furihata could still feel the tight ropes on his skin — and, oddly enough, the sensation creeps onto his neck.

He forgets to breathe.

* * *

Gag reflex, disgust, unwillingness, dignity, passion — Furihata's lost them all in the passage of time, as he is still too wrapped in Akashi's finger.

His eyes glaze over when Akashi slams him to window. He pants, saliva dribbling down his chin, as he realizes that his entirety — his whole, shameful being — is exposed to the outside world. In desperation, Furihata writhes against Akashi's grasp. "_A-ah_, Sei - _hnn_ someone's gonna - _ah_, see us —"

"Hm?" Akashi says in the same tone that Kuroko has, but he is questioning Furihata's implied defiance. To make a point, he slides a leg underneath Furihata's ass. It's enough for Furihata to release a breathy moan as he ruts on it.

Akashi presses an open-mouthed kiss to the back of Furihata's neck while running his hands over hardened nubs. "Mm," he murmurs along the shell of Furihata's ear, and the brunette shivers. "You're always begging for more. You feel so good, so tight, clenching around me with your —"

As Akashi continues his dirty talk, Furihata shudders and coats the glass with fluid, knees wobbling from the high. Finally understanding the situation, Furihata bites his tongue for his stupidity and lack of control. Soon enough, nimble fingers make their way to the base of his manhood and squeeze painfully.

"Whoever said you could come before me?" Akashi is obviously displeased and has punishments on his mind.

Furihata gives up on building back himself with all the little pieces he still has. Akashi can destroy him just as long as he still loves him.

The brunet hopes for the best, wishing the new wounds he will subject himself to will not be visible tomorrow.

* * *

Kuroko is always watching, always reminding Furihata of the life he's thrown away all for his king.

"Furihata-kun," he says one day, casually sipping on milkshake. "Have you been feeling alright?"

This is, perhaps, what Furihata likes the most about him — Kuroko is the one often unnoticed, but is always the one who understands. Before he can set boundaries for himself, Furihata laughs. He can't keep the tears in anymore. "I— ah, Kuroko-kun, I'm —"

"It's alright, Furihata-kun," Kuroko says. Furihata furiously wipes over the saltwater streaming down his face. "It's okay. You don't have to endure him if he's hurting you."

"I want to, but I don't know if I can," Furihata says through occasional sobs. _What a crybaby_, Akashi might have said._ Look at how weak you are, Kouki._

Somehow, Akashi's absence makes him happy. He blocks the thought.

Kuroko is silent, staring at the streets with renewed interest. He offers therapeutic silence for a few minutes until Furihata has completely calmed down. "I'm not certain about your choices, but leaving is a better option."

"And what? I'll move on from him? Forget the abuse?"

"Not exactly," Kuroko says. "It'll make him realize that you're much more worth than how he's been treating you."

It's always been about Akashi. For now, redemption is something that Furihata is too much of a coward to attempt, but the idea doesn't seem unpleasant at all.

His phone rings. In dread, Furihata looks at the caller ID, and is not surprised. He looks to Kuroko, and the latter appears to be urging him to face his demons.

Furihata promptly excuses himself and heads toward an all-too familiar manor.

* * *

Furihata hasn't expected the night to go slow and sensual. His eyes widen at Akashi kissing him tenderly, swiping his tongue across his in an aggressive but delicate fashion.

They stumble into the bed, which is literally of roses. The petals are soothing against Furihata's scarred back, but he doesn't reach for Akashi. Out of habit, he crosses his arms over his head and waits until Akashi makes the next move.

Akashi only wrinkles his eyebrows. "No, Kouki," he murmurs, running his hands along Furihata's hips. He maneuvers both of them out of their clothes and manages to steal a kiss while doing so.

Furihata almost feels shy, now that Akashi is really looking at him. He gasps when Akashi traces the rope burns on his arms, the bruises on his torso and chest, and the ubiquitous scratches on his collarbones and the inside of his thighs. The light touches that Akashi makes are both of pain and pleasure, and Furihata wonders why this soft side of Akashi has gone dormant for so long.

Slowly, Akashi hikes up Furihata's legs on his shoulders and treats the brunet like a porcelain doll. He doesn't forget the lubricant this time, and scissors Furihata's insides in precaution.

"_U-aahn_," Furihata moans. Akashi sighs and carefully holds him in place to prevent him from jerking away.

"Is this okay?"

Furihata could barely nod.

Just like that, Akashi goes in. For once, Furihata doesn't consider himself to be a fucktoy. He feels safe and precious in Akashi's arms, and when Akashi leans over to press his lips against his, he couldn't avoid crying.

Just for a single night do they have the chance to complete each other.

After wiping off the mess on Furihata's stomach with a towel, Akashi settles beside him, offering his arm as a makeshift pillow. Furihata doesn't show much enthusiasm for the gesture. His heart is hammering his chest, and he's sure that Akashi must have a plausible reason for doing this tonight. There's no way the decision for sweet sex and cuddling was made sporadically.

The anxiety boiling in the pit of Furihata's mind evaporates as soon as Akashi speaks. "Kouki."

Furihata finds the courage to answer back — a privilege that has been taken away from him in the span of whatever that had come between them. "Yes?"

"Do you love me?"

A simple question knocks the wind out of Furihata. He has to turn away because of the severity of Akashi's words — he would rather go back to pretending that this is love instead of being asked about it. He isn't quite sure himself — countless times, Furihata has reassured himself that Akashi is the only one for him, that he can never replace him, that he loves —

"No."

The answer is out of Furihata's mouth, and it's a breath of fresh air, like he now has the chance to say the things he never did with a single word.

Furihata bites his lip in anticipation, but doesn't hold out any hope for what Akashi will say next.

A hand snakes its way to Furihata's own and holds onto it tightly. It is warm and loving and perfect and everything that Furihata has ever wished for, but it's too late.

Furihata doesn't get to see what the heterochromia now speaks for itself, but he's sure that Akashi's clearing his throat.

In the dim moonlight, Furihata drapes an arm over his face and smiles, until tears are getting the best of him.

Akashi grips his hand tighter.

"Good."


End file.
